Whither Wander You
by Vanillasiren
Summary: A prequel of sorts to my "Siren Song" story that explores why/how the Banshee might have started developing feelings for Puck  and maybe vice versa as well? . One-shot.


Whither Wander You*

Summary: A prequel of sorts to my "Siren Song" story that explores why/how the Banshee might have started developing feelings for Puck (and maybe vice versa as well?). One-shot.

Author's Note: You probably won't understand this fic too well unless you've read the above-referenced story.

_It was all his fault._

_If only hadn't been so damn … nice._

It hadn't been as though they were meeting for the first time. Far from it. They'd fought alongside each other, so to speak, centuries ago. When the terrible conflict between Mab and Oberon had escalated into civil war, everyone had to pick a side, and they had both chosen to follow Oberon.

Of course, Puck had selected his side more out of a sense of affection and loyalty, while she had simply gone with what she considered the lesser of two "evils," the person who seemed more reasonable. The two of them, along with a great many other fay, had fought Mab and her forces, probably saving each other several times over in the process. The memories of these events tended to be hazy, both because it had been so long ago, and because the war had been so awful that no one really wanted to think about it.

Yet, if she concentrated, it seemed she could recall Puck rushing an opponent who'd held her in her grasp, clutching her throat … had it been Mab herself? And she distinctly remembered pulling him out of one those awful traps, his eyes wide with fear, grasping her hand desperately at the last moment. But it wasn't as though these memories held any special meaning, or bound them to each other; after all, several of the fay who had fought together during the war were now bitter enemies.

And after what she'd just been through, being bound in iron for who knew how long, and then suffering a humiliating and painful defeat at the hands of the hero Cu Chullain, she wasn't inclined to trust anyone.

He came upon her in a secluded forest, one she chose because the mortals had not yet encroached upon it. The healing process was tedious, almost agonizing. It would take longer without help from another of her kind, she knew, but she was far too proud to seek someone out and ask for aid. Besides, what was time to an immortal?

She would heal, and the hero would eventually die, and then she would return to Ireland. The ultimate victory would be hers.

Ireland. How foolish she'd been, to love that land, to care for its people, care enough to actually mourn the passing of those little mortal lives. She should have known better.

_Love humiliates, but hatred … it cradles. Hatred soothes. _

_Hatred is infinitely more satisfying..._

"What are you doing here?"

A voice started her out of her sinister thoughts, and she turned to see him, just floating there. She instantly recognized him as one of her own, but it took her a moment to place him. Her first thought was that he was rather gaudily dressed. His clothes, along with his demeanor, were much too bright to suit her dark mood. She scowled at him.

"I might ask you the same question. This is my forest, go find your own!"

He smirked. "I don't see your name on it. Oh come on," he said, when she started to protest. "You didn't even put wards up or anything. You know that means it's fair game." He looked far too smug as he said this. And the worst part was that he was actually right.

"I didn't put up wards because … I can't," she admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "At least not at the moment."

"Why not? Are you hurt or something?" He asked. She didn't respond, but he tilted his head at her, studying her more carefully, and then his eyes widened.

"You are hurt, aren't you?" He asked, his tone softer now. She looked away.

"Banshee," he said decisively, and she looked back up at him then. "I remember you now. It_ is_ you, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said softly. "And if I don't mistake your shape and making quite, you are the Puck? Also known as Robin Goodfellow?"**

"Why yes, I am that merry wanderer of the night," ** he said, bowing to her with an exaggerated flourish, and she found herself biting back a smile.

"And a favorite of our Lord Oberon as well, if I recall."

"Most assuredly."

The Banshee gave a contemptuous snort. "We should all be so fortunate." Her breath caught suddenly as a wave of pain seized her, and she was unable to suppress a small moan. He flitted down by her side.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she managed. "It'll pass."

"You're hurt pretty badly. How did this happen to you?"

"It doesn't matter –"

"Sure it does –"

"I don't want to talk about it!" She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Okay, fine, you don't want to talk about it, yeesh." He paused. "At least let me help you heal."

"I don't need your help!"

"Yes you do, you stubborn creature." He smirked, an expression which quickly faded as he saw another wave of pain pass over her features. "Oh come on now, just let me help. You shouldn't have to suffer like this."

She gritted her teeth, shaking her head, but in the end, her pain outweighed her pride.

"All right then."

Puck's touch was gentle and respectful. He started with the wound by her shoulder, pressing his hands to her skin as he muttered an incantation. He moved his hands to her side, repeating the process. Then his hands were on her face, and she felt a warmth pass through her, and breathed a little deeper and easier as he worked his final spell.

He smiled at her. "There. That's better, isn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted softly. When his hands still remained on her face, she cleared her throat.

"You can let go now."

"Oh, right." For a moment, he looked almost surprised as his hands dropped away. Then he smirked at her again. "I believe a little gratitude is in order."

"Thank you," she said reluctantly. "I suppose I am in your debt."

"Yes, and you can repay me by telling me how this happened to you."

The Banshee sighed. "Why are you so keen to know?"

"Curiosity. Out with it, my little siren. I want to hear the whole story."

"Well, I – wait. What did you just call me?"

"Oh, you mean little siren?" Puck grinned at her. "That's my nickname for you."

"_Nickname_? When did you decide that?"

"Just now. I rather like it, don't you?"

"No!"

"Really? Pity, I think it suits you."

"You're impertinent!"

He laughed.

"Oh come on, it works. You know, with your voice and all. Get it, siren?"

"Yes, of course I get it, but I am_ not_ … little! And I am most certainly not _yours_!"

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Not yet."

She let out a scream at that, pleased to know that she still could, and even more pleased to see that she had the impudent little brat completely cowed.

"Okay, okay," he managed. "I was just kidding! I'm sorry!"

Satisfied that she would not have to hear his ridiculous name for heragain, she ceased her keening. She expected him to leave at this point, probably muttering something about how she was an ingrate who obviously deserved what she got. Instead, he stayed right where he was, looking at her inquisitively.

"So," he said. "What happened?"

"You … you still want to know?"

"Of course I do."

So she began to tell him. The story came out of her slowly and reluctantly, and she fell silent several times in the midst of telling it. But he did not goad her to continue; he merely waited patiently for her to pick up the thread of the narrative, his eyes fixed on her, his expression attentive.

"… And I came to this place to heal myself," she concluded.

"And now here we are," he said.

"Here we are," she echoed.

Puck put his hand on hers. "It's not fair that you had to go through that, little siren. I'm sorry the mortals didn't understand you."

"Don't … call me that," she said softly, pulling her hand away. There must have been some magic left over from his healing spells, because her skin still tingled at his touch. "And besides, I don't need your pity. Save it for the mortals of Ireland. When I get through with them –"

"Don't tell me you're thinking of going back there?"

"Well, yes. I mean, eventually."

"After all the bad things that happened to you? Whatever for?"

"Revenge, of course!"

"Revenge? Revenge is a waste of time. It's a sucker's game." He leaned in closer to her, his eyes sparkling. "I know much more fun games to play, I can assure you." She frowned.

"I am not interested in any of your stupid little games, trickster."

"Oh come on. When was the last time you had any fun?" She was silent. "You can't even remember, can you?"

"I … I don't want to have … fun. I don't need to."

"Oh yes you do. Badly. And you could use a good laugh as well. I can help you with that too, you know."

"You really think you can amuse me with your antics, Puck?" His eyes lit up.

"Is that a challenge?"

"_No_. Look, I've told you the story. I've given you the payment you demanded for your help. You can go away now."

"What's the matter? Afraid you wouldn't be able to resist my charms?"

"What charms?"

"Oh, _ow_. After all my kindness … that was not nice. And as for my charms, well, I'll have you know that I'm adorable. Everyone thinks so."

"I don't."

He grinned at her cheekily. "Sure you do."

"Oh, for … leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She stood up, a bit shakily. "Fine," she declared. "Then I'll leave." Of course, the dignity of her exit was severely marred when she stumbled. She would have fallen if he hadn't caught her in his arms.

He laughed. "I don't think you're going anywhere either, little siren."

"Don't call me that! Release me!"

His grin faded. "Not until I'm sure you won't fall," he said softly. She sighed, trying to steady herself, and he gently set her back on the ground.

"Are you afraid I might prove you wrong?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Afraid I might get you to laugh? Enjoy yourself? Do something other than brood over your wrongs?"

"No, of course not."

"Then prove it." He held out his hand to her. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Any place where there's mischief to be made." She looked at his hand.

"Come on," he whispered. "You know you want to."

Though part of her couldn't believe she was doing it, she grasped his offered hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"This is going to be a romp indeed, my little siren, I can promise you."

She rolled her eyes. "I sincerely doubt that, Puck. But I can't go back to Ireland for a while yet, and as I've nothing better to do, I suppose it will at least be a distraction. Oh, and one more thing … _stop calling me that_!"

He said nothing, just laughed at her, and together they vanished into the night.

**The dialogue here is very loosely paraphrased from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream," specifically Act II, Scene I, in which Puck runs into one of the fairies serving Titania.

*The title comes from Puck's first line in the above-referenced scene.


End file.
